er try to make
his way out alone to the old slope near the Dunmore road, or he could
remain in the vicinity of Conway's chamber till help should reach him
from the Burnham mine.

But it might be many hours before assistance would come. The shaft
would have first to be cleared out, and that he knew would be no easy
matter. After that the mine would need to be ventilated before men
could make their way through it. All this could not be done in a day,
indeed it might take many days, and when they should finally come in
to search for him, they would not find him in the Burnham mine; he
would not be there.

If he could discover the way to the old slope, and the path should be
unobstructed, he would be in the open air within half an hour. In the
open air! The very thought of such a possibility decided the question
for him. And when he should reach the surface he would go straight
to Mrs. Burnham, straight to his mother, and place in her hands the
letter he had found. She would be glad to read it; she would be
very, very glad to know that Ralph was her son. Sitting there in the
darkness and the desolation he could almost see her look of great
delight, he could almost feel her kisses on his lips as she gave him
tender greeting. Oh! it would be beautiful, so beautiful!

But, then, there was Uncle Billy. He had come near to forgetting him.
He would go first to Uncle Billy, that would be better, and then they
would go together to his mother's house and would both enjoy her words
of welcome.

But if he was going he must be about it. It would not do to sit there
all night. All night? Ralph wondered what time it had come to be.
Whether hours or days had passed since his imprisonment he could
hardly tell.

He picked up his lamp and can and started on. At no great distance he
found an old door-way opening into the heading. He passed through it
and began to trudge along the narrow, winding passage. He had often to
stop and rest, he felt so very weak. A long time he walked, slowly,
unsteadily, but without much pain. Then, suddenly, he came to the end
of the heading. The black, solid wall faced him before he was hardly
aware of it. He had taken the wrong direction when he entered the
gallery, that was all. He had followed the heading in instead of out.
His journey had not been without its use, however, for it settled
definitely the course he ought to take to reach the slope, and that,
he thought, was a matter of no little importanc